I think I’ll be sick; my heartbeats like crickets that try to scratch their way out of a plastic container. They cornered me on what must be the most deserted street in the city. I’ve only seen two cars in the last ten minutes. The third one just drove by, but it wasn’t a cop car. Situations like this are standard on the poorer streets of Chicago, especially in this neighborhood. Riverdale’s known for robberies, drug addicts, and rapes.
Loki presses the sharp edge of his knife to my cheek, sliding it lower ever so gently, but his hand shakes, and the blade digs into my skin. I might need a tetanus shot after this.... the blade looks and smells filthy. I hiss with fresh tears prickling my eyes. It’s not the pain. That’s irrelevant. I don’t feel pain while panic tries to choke me at the thought of blood seeping from the wound.
“Do you know who my father is?” I ask, redirecting the train of paralyzing thoughts. “Frank Harston. Rings a bell?”
Every junkie in Chicago knows his name. The dark side of the city knows both my father and Dante.
Loki cackles, looking over his shoulder at the other man. “You heard her, Cannon?”
“Daddy’s little girl.” Cannon sneers.
The blade of Loki’s knife breaks my skin again, lower this time. “You’re down South. Your father means nothing here.”
My knees buckle. Panic hovers nearby, ready to leap out at the least convenient moment and knock the breath out of my chest. Scaring them off won’t work, and my composure starts to burst like a bubble, but with the undeniable defeat comes a sudden rush of bravery.
I shove at Loki’s frail, drug-addled body and run, aiming for the main street. Cars loom in the distance, filling me with hope, but I’m too far away for anyone to see or hear me. Desperate to feel safe again, I call the last person who can help.
I swipe my thumb across the screen but never press the phone to my ear. I trip on uneven pavement, falling face down. Tears trickle down my cheeks. My heart thuds against my ribs like a Conga drum. The sight of blood oozing from my scraped knee erases any remaining courage.
Cannon catches me first, bending down to grab my waist. He reeks of sweat, smoke, and piss as he heaves with the effort, rolling me over until I’m looking at his ugly face covered in a nasty rash, hovering above me.
“Leave me alone!” I keep my voice down because screaming might alert more psychopaths hiding in the dark.
The navy Dodge RAM that passed us a minute ago does a sharp U-turn in the middle of the road. Neither Cannon nor Loki pays the car any attention until it stops by the curb.
A tall, well-dressed guy jumps out of the driver’s seat. “Let her go,” he seethes, his voice low, dripping with fury.
Relief floods my system, but my tears come on stronger. “Please don’t leave me here.”
Cannon looks over his shoulder, holding me in a vice grip. “This is none of your business! Dolly got lost.”
The newcomer turns to the sky as if he has no time for this nonsense, then grabs Cannon by the arm, twisting it back with an impassive expression. “Do you know who the fuck she is you fucking dimwit? Let. Her.Go.”
Cannon jerks away, readjusting his position to ease the pain of his arm being twisted back at an unnatural angle. “Yeah, I do. Do you?!” A mist of spit flies out of his mouth. “She’s Frankie’s daughter! Dante’s not gonna be happy you’re helping the bitch!”
“Dante will fucking disembowel you when he finds out you touched her.” Amusement tugs at his lips. “Start digging your fucking grave.”
“But...” With fearful eyes, he looks from me to Loki as if he can shed some light on what’s happening. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“You heard me,” the man shoves Cannon to the ground. “Get the fuck out of here and make sure I don’t see you again.” He looks at me, his face impassive when he points at his car. “Get in.”
I grab my bag and phone off the sidewalk and get in the passenger seat, no questions asked. Whoever he is, he knows Dante. He saved me from rape or worse: death. I don’t care about his name if he gets me out of here.
Despite the fall, my phone still works. Sixteen missed calls wait on the screen.
All from Dante.
I hide my face in my hands. Tears no longer trail down my face, but I shake, whimpering despite trying my hardest not to make a sound.
The driver takes his seat, touching my back and making me jump. “Calm down, Layla.” He moves away, jaw ticking. “You good? Did they hurt you? What the fuck happened to your security detail?!”
I rest my back against the door, covering the bleeding knee with my bag. “How do you know who I am?”
“Who the fuck doesn’t?” he clips. “I didn’t have time for pleasantries. I’m Luca, Dante’s main fighter.”
CHAPTER TEN
Dante